Blood of a Witch
by StringynKel
Summary: Before Erik moved to the opera house, he met someone at the freak show that would change his life forever. Disclaimer: I do not own any of the songs used in this fic, nor do I own any of Leroux's characters. DON'T SUE ME!


Erik sat on the ground beside the music box and wound it up, tears running down his face. He looked at the monkey sitting on it and sang along with the tune it played. "Masquerade, paper faces on parade, masquerade. Hide your face so the world can never find you." He thought back a bit, remembering how he learned it.

It was a hot summer day. Erik was only eleven years old at the time, and had just left the last freak show he had worked for in hopes of higher pay and someone who didn't hate him for 'stealing' their carnival acts. He asked for the manager, and when he came, Erik lifted the mask off his face. He then followed the now slightly green manager to the tent where the other 'freaks' lived. Just like the last time, and the time after that. Little did he know, circumstances couldn't have been different.

He set his traveling bag down on a vacant cot and sat down. He was only there for a few minutes before someone tapped him on the shoulder. There behind him stood a girl only slightly older than him. Her skin was tinted various shades of green, blue, purple, red, and yellow. "Hi!" she said brightly. "I'm known as the Painted Lady during the show, but you can call me Brittany. I haven't seen you around before. What's your name?"

"I'm Erik," He said.

They spent the next few hours talking, and Brittany introduced Erik to the rest of the 'freaks.' They accepted him well enough, even better than the ones at the last carnival. Of course, he didn't completely fit in; he never did.

After the other 'freaks' were asleep, Erik decided to go for a walk in the woods that the fair was currently stopped by. As he was walking, he sang, much like he did every other night, loud and strong. He didn't sing for anyone in particular, he sang because it was the only time that he was even slightly happy. Little did he know that one of the workers at the fair was listening as he sang:

"Through your love and through the ram,  
You saved the son of Abraham;  
Through the power of your hand,  
Turned the sea into dry land."

Back in her tent, Aria put down her pencil and sketchbook and listened for a few seconds. She smiled, recognizing the song that rang out from the woods. She slipped out of her tent and headed toward the woods. She joined in for the rest of the verse.

"To the outcast on her knees,  
You were the God who really sees,  
And by your might,  
You set your children free."

She saw a young boy, at least five years younger than her, walking through the woods, singing. He stopped and looked at her, then started running from her. She didn't say anything, she simply continued singing.

"El shaddai, el shaddai,  
El-elyon na adonia,  
Age to age you're still the same,  
By the power of the name."

The boy stopped running and looked back at her. He took a few steps toward her and sang back,

"El shaddai, el shaddai,  
Erkamka na adonai,  
We will praise and lift you high,  
El shaddai."

Aria walked over to the boy slowly, doing her best not to scare him off. She noticed he was wearing a mask, and figured he was the new boy who came to work at the carnival earlier that day. She reached a hand out for him to shake. He looked at her apprehensively for a minute, then slowly and hesitantly extended his hand until it touched hers. They shook hands, and Aria noted how cold his were.

"You must be freezing," she said. "Come, I'll make you some hot chocolate." She led him into her tent and told him to stay inside while she boiled some water. A few minutes later, she returned to find him sitting on her cot, looking at her sketchbook. He was currently staring at a piece she called, "Imaginary." He was running his fingers lightly over the picture, staring into the pupil of the eye depicted in the drawing. Aria kneeled down beside him and set a mug of hot chocolate down beside him and sprinkled a bit of cinnamon in it before fixing herself a mug.

Erik stared at the drawing for a few minutes, admiring it. There was something about it that he could relate to. He turned to the next picture and was both amazed and delighted by what he saw. A hand with long, black nails held a rope with a corpse dangling from it. Blood was dripping down from it and forming a pool on a huge windowsill next to a barrel. A massive vase of wilted roses stood nearby. Outside, there was a path and a closed gate, and beyond that, a dark night sky.

Without meaning to, he said, "I like this one." The older girl walked over to him and smiled.

"You're one of few who do," she said. "That one's called 'Hangover.' I drew it a couple months ago after they drowned Isabelle. She was another one of the workers here, and another to fall victim to the witch hunters."

"I'm sorry," Erik said.

"Don't be," she replied. "It isn't your fault." Just then, a black cat walked into the tent and dropped something at the girl's feet. It let out a loud meow, and the girl replied with, "Magda!" She lifted the cat into her arms and stroked her lovingly. "This is Magda," she said. "Best hunter in all of Europe and my best friend for five years." She looked at the thing the cat had dropped, which turned out to be a possum, and said, "And she even brought dinner!" She picked up the possum and skinned it, then put the meat in a pot and went back outside. About half an hour later, she came back inside with two bowls of possum stew. She handed one to Erik and sat down beside him to eat her own food. Erik finished his quickly and went back to looking at the sketchbook.

Aria watched the boy quietly as he surveyed her sketches. He had been really quiet. Most people would have been worried, but she wasn't. After all, she had been just like him when she was his age; quiet, thoughtful, and shunned by practically everyone.

She decided, though, that she should at least know his name, so she asked, "What's your name?"

"Erik," the boy said in a voice stronger than any she'd heard in a boy his age before. "What's yours?"

"Aria," she replied.

"Were your parents musicians?" Erik asked. He was clearly quite intelligent for his age.

"No, but my aunt was, and she was the one who named me," Aria explained.

They had been talking for an hour, when Aria stood up and said, "You should be getting back to your tent. It's nearly two o'clock. See you later, Erik." Erik walked out of the tent, hardly believing what had just happened. Here, he had met a girl who could sympathize with him in some sense. While they were talking, she had told him that her parents died when she was five. She had been quite intelligent for her age, and because of that, her father thought she was a witch and tried to kill her. Her mother, however, defended her, and was killed. Then, Aria took a knife and stabbed her father, but not before he could tell everyone that she was a witch. She told Erik that an angry mob had chased her until she came to a Gypsy camp, where she was taken in and taught how to train bears. Erik kind of liked the story, in a way. He had told her his, and she had sympathized completely with him.

Erik sat down on his cot and remembered the drawings that were in Aria's sketchbook. They were beautiful, but dark. She had said that very few people liked them, not because they were badly drawn, but because people were scared of them. She had also invited him to tea the next day. Erik fell asleep that night, glad that he had finally found something he thought he'd never have: a friend.


End file.
